


wherever you go

by dustyspines



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Stockings, F/M, Parenthood, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27917803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustyspines/pseuds/dustyspines
Summary: And that’s how Ginny came to knit a stocking. Red and green with a cursiveJon the front. It wasn’t incredible, not the pinnacle of homemade crafts, but it was something she made forherkid and that in itself made it perfect. She hung it on the fireplace next to her and Harry’s stockings, right in the centre, and perhaps that was the moment she realised she could do this. That she was going to do this. The parenting thing. The mother thing.She might not be perfect, she may stumble along the way, but she can do it. She can.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 14
Kudos: 52





	wherever you go

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this isn't much, and it may not even be that festive, but here is my 2020 christmas fic~  
> i started something more shippy, but it just wasn't working. then this came to me in a dream, the words basically wrote themselves, and now here we are. the title is from 2000 miles by the pretenders - I hope you enjoy, and have a very safe december and festive period:)

Ginny didn’t think she would make a good mother. 

When she fell pregnant with James - rather unexpectedly, if she’s being honest - the first thing she remembers feeling was this inexplicable sense of dread. The idea of raising a child, an entire human being with emotions and needs and sentience, seemed beyond her capabilities. There was no excitement, no endless joy at the prospect of doing the whole parenting thing with the love of her life.

There was simply fear. As she read the parenting books her mother gave to her, began to memorise the intricacies of feeding times and different types of cries babies have and what they mean, the dread seemed to mount. Ginny had never been maternal, had never been the mother of the group and had never experienced the feeling of wanting to parent someone. She had spent her life thus far navigating this peculiar fragile line of balancing her femininity and her experience as the only daughter among a handful of sons while also trying to be the woman she wanted to become, not who she thought she should be. So much time had been spent pouring over whether she was pretending to be Ginny Weasley, or whether she actually _was_ Ginny Weasley. She never had time to think about a maternal side, if she had one, she never had time to _be_. 

(Then she became Ginny Potter, and things became a lot more confusing, but there is no time to dwell on that anymore, not because it was a choice she willingly made.)

Anyway, the point is Ginny spent the first few months of her pregnancy drowning in this indescribable sense of mediocrity before she even became a parent. Wondering whether she would be enough, whether she could give her child enough to live a happy life. Feeling as if she was already failing, because she didn’t have a buzz in her heart at the prospect of the rest of her life growing inside her, because she didn’t look at tiny baby clothes being handed to her and smile and gush endless thanks while imagining her child dressed in them. Because she looked at the clothes, and she saw the outline of something so vulnerable, so fragile, so _delicate_ that she wouldn’t be able to care for it properly. Ginny has never been good at looking after the things she loves; she lost Harry a few times along the road, she lost Fred on the night that continues to haunt the back of her mind, she lost her friends in the days that followed and somehow lost herself along the way, too. 

If she can’t look after herself, how could she be expected to look after a _child_?

It wasn’t until Christmas of that year, seven months pregnant and stood in the garden of the Burrow with her hands smoothing over the curve of her stomach and the lingering taste of lemonade fizzing over her tongue, that someone told her it was _okay_ to feel that way. 

Her father came out, paper hat over his greying hair and a cup of Butterbeer between his fingers, placed his free hand around her shoulders and stared at the faraway horizon by her side. 

“What if I can’t do it?” Ginny asked. “What if _it_ doesn’t come to me?”

Arthur brushed his fingers over the material of her Christmas jumper. She’s had to wear one of Harry’s old ones from a year or so ago, the oversized fit of it comfortable against her growing body, her body she felt like an imposter in at that moment. 

“You know, it didn’t really come to me until a few weeks after Bill was born,” he said. “Everyone congratulates you and asks how it feels to be a father now, and I would nod because it felt like something I should have done. But I didn’t feel it until Christmas a few weeks later.”

Ginny looked to her side, looked at her father, this man she had always gone to in moments of anguish, moments where everything felt too much, too strong. “Really?”

Arthur nodded. “Really,” he responded. “But then on Christmas morning, Molly put him into the jumper she knitted for him, that she’d been knitting for the last few months while we were expecting. And Bill _hated_ it. Absolutely hated it. Had such a meltdown in it. Molly had no idea what to do, couldn’t work out how to quiet him down. And in the moment I just thought, hey, let me try. So she gave him to me, and I took him upstairs. I put his favourite long sleeve shirt on, then put the jumper on top. Kind of bounced him around for a moment. And he just… calmed down.”

He paused. Ginny took his hand in hers. 

“I think the material must’ve been irritating his skin, or something. I’m still not sure. But anyway,” he continued, kissing the back of Ginny’s hand. “My point is, this whole parenting thing doesn’t come to you all at once. It doesn’t have to. Sometimes it comes when you least expect it. It’s instinctive, you know? And there’ll be a moment when you act without thinking and then you’ll look back and think, Merlin, I’m doing it. I’m parenting. And then things will start to make more sense. So although it’s okay to worry, and it’s completely normal, you have no need to, Gin, not too much. Because you’re bold and daring and wonderful, and I know you’ll be just fine.”

Ginny nodded. She believed him, somehow. Despite the pressing clouds of fear over her head and the sense of inevitability crushing her soul, she believed him. 

In that moment, Ginny still didn’t think she’d make a good mother, but she knew she would try her damn hardest to make it work. 

⚡

Ginny is in charge of stockings. Always has been, always will be. 

Harry takes charge of main presents, of wrapping and curating and buying and sorting things out. He wanted to be Saint Nick, he wanted to do it all because he never had a parent who could do it for him. And, honestly, Ginny had let him go wild. She didn’t mind. She’d had a lifetime of childhoods opening gifts on Christmas morning and watching the delighted faces of her nearest and dearest unravelling the ribbon to open a box of their favourite sweets. 

There was just something about Harry’s face, the gentle expression on his features as he focused on taping down the corners and centering the bows over the boxes to make them look as beautiful as possible, that somehow made Ginny fall ever more in love with him. Something about the care he was taking with the gifts, the dedication to his kids. Ginny didn’t understand how now, years after she had first met him, Harry still found ways to surprise her with his generosity and compassion. 

But, anyway, Ginny is responsible for the kids' stockings. She knitted them herself, actually. In the weak days following the War, as a way to take her mother’s mind off the tragedy that lurked in their peripheral vision, Ginny asked Molly to teach her how to knit. And she did. 

It took a week or so for Ginny to get the hang of it. To master the basic stitches. But she got there, she managed. And one day while James slept in her arms on a cold December morning, her kid who - despite all her worrying - she loves with every ounce of her being and more, she decided to knit something for him. Something that would last a lifetime. 

And that’s how she came to knit a stocking. Red and green with a cursive _J_ on the front. It wasn’t incredible, not the pinnacle of homemade crafts, but it was something she made for _her_ kid and that in itself made it perfect. She hung it on the fireplace next to her and Harry’s stockings, right in the centre, and perhaps that was the moment she realised she could do this. That she was going to do this. The parenting thing. The mother thing. 

She might not be perfect, she may stumble along the way, but she can do it. She can. 

⚡

Albus was a quiet kid. Really quiet. Oddly quiet. 

James had been a little firecracker, Ginny recalls. This enigmatic spark of a boy who would never give up unless every ounce of his energy had been drained and he would collapse wherever in the house he was. He would sleep anywhere and everywhere, but only after setting the world to rights a thousand times over in the process. 

Albus, though. Albus was never like that. He was small, observant, and ever so quiet. He would watch the world with wide eyes and coo at things he wanted to touch. Harry would lift him to the top of the Christmas tree so he could look at the star and reach out his chubby little fingers at the points. The lights would reflect in his beautiful eyes, he would watch silently as they flashed from green to red to gold to blue and back to the start again, and Ginny would have to look away so as to not cry in front of her family. Her kid, her husband. Her bigger kid walking around hanging baubles on the branches on the tree, growing a few centimetres every day, growing up right in front of her eyes. 

Ginny will never forgive herself for not noticing Albus retreating into his shell when he started at Hogwarts. _Never_. She just thought it was him being quiet as he had done all his life. First Year nerves, puberty. Something normal, something beyond her control. But she should have noticed. He’s her kid, after all. Her blood and bones, the light of her life. Eleven years she had spent doting on him, protecting him, learning the intrinsic ways he would navigate the world in his own special routine. She should have known. Should’ve done better. 

Ginny had always been gentle to herself when things had gone wrong with the kids. When James slipped in the park on a patch of black ice, of course she had cried and rushed him to hospital, but she hadn’t blamed herself too much; after all, she isn’t a mindreader, how was she expected to see that? When Lily swore in front of her primary school teacher she had been disappointed in herself for not observing closely enough the language her family were saying around them all. But again, she can’t control everything, so she wasn’t too hard on herself. Ginny learned to reprimand herself for her parenting faux pas' but to not torture her mind for things she physically couldn’t have prevented. It wouldn’t be fair to herself. 

But this thing with Al. Perhaps she couldn’t have prevented everything that occurred in the fallout, but Ginny knows she could have done better. Should have done. Should have noticed the darkness in his eyes, the clenching of his fists whenever he had to board the train. Looking back, there were so many signs. Which is why Ginny _can’t_ forgive herself for that one, can’t just let it run off like water on a duck's back. She can’t. Even a year later, it just doesn’t leave her mind. Because Albus is her son, and there were so many red flags she didn’t notice. 

Ginny will never forgive herself for letting Albus down. She will never vocalise it to anybody, but she feels it still. Feels it when she wraps the presents to put in his stocking, when she writes his Christmas card. She knows how close things came to the world shattering around her, and she knows how much of it could’ve been prevented if she’d been a good mother. 

All Ginny has ever wanted is to keep her kids safe. She can’t be perfect at everything, but it is her responsibility to keep them safe. As she hangs the stockings, the socks she meticulously knitted when they were younger, she can’t help but think there is a version of the universe where she would only be hanging two. _J_ and _L_. A chance she would’ve had to put Albus’ in a box and never look at it again. It terrifies her, it hurts her. Albus is her quiet child, but the love she has for him is so loud. So loud it burns in her heart and her ears and rings so vibrantly she struggles to understand how it doesn’t burst out of her chest. 

Christmas makes her think about all this. The endless what ifs. The near misses they’ve had in life. Christmas can be heavy, it can be sad and it can be so, so miserable sometimes. But he’s still here, she thinks. Her boy - her kid, her love - is still here. That’s all that matters. 

⚡

“Hey, buddy. Look, there’s mama,” Ginny looks over her shoulder as Harry brings James into the living room. Dressed in his little reindeer pyjamas Ron brought for him. Little rosey nose, sleepy eyes. They made one beautiful baby, she thinks. “Should we see what’s in your stocking, huh? Yeah. Let’s see what’s in there.”

They sit in front of the fire, James between Harry’s legs, and his tiny little fingers tear apart Ginny’s perfectly taped wrapping. He drools over the little socks she brought him - snitches with Santa hats over them - and he chews the plush dragon she found in a Muggle charity shop, but Ginny doesn’t care. 

This is everything she thought it would be and more. Her husband with a sleepy morning voice, his hair untamed and his scar a little redder than normal (as always happens in winter, she has noticed). Him holding their kid in his arms, both of them watching as he explores this new festivity he has never experienced before. As he plays with wrapping paper, chews the corner of Christmas cards. Ginny tickles him, kisses his nose, kisses Harry’s lips. 

The fire paints them orange, their record player creaks rusty Christmas tones into the early morning silence. Ginny wants to press this image into her mind. Wants to remember this for the rest of her life. The calmness, the sheer tranquility and love she feels as she watches the scene unfold. 

“I love you, H.” She says. 

Harry looks at her. James plays with the dragon toy, making little roars as he bounces it over the carpet. Harry smiles, he kisses her, he brushes his thumb over her freckles and tucks her loose hair behind her ears and gazes at her with this wonderstruck enchantment he seems to save for her and her alone. 

“I love you more, Gin.”

Ginny sets James’ stocking to the side when it’s empty, lovingly folds it onto the coffee table. Part of her wants to skip ten years to see it worn, to see it sagging slightly and to see her stitches coming loose. But then she scolds herself for trying to rush time, for not living in the moment. She just has so much to look forward to, she thinks. So much to be excited for. 

All because of her stockings. So much joy in her heart just because of that damn stocking. 

⚡

The first time Scorpius stays over at their house for Christmas is during his and Albus’ Sixth Year. He was going to stay at Hogwarts, what with Draco being called to France on a family emergency regarding the Malfoy estate and being unable to bring Scorpius along. 

But Ginny wasn’t going to let this boy, the best friend who kept her kid alive when she couldn’t, spend Christmas alone. So she made Albus invite him, and spent the few weeks prior to the Christmas break knitting a stocking for him. She took it to work with her, stuffed in her bag with some spare yarn, and would work a few stitches in whenever she had a moment to pause. A little green and gold and silver one, a cursive _S_ in the middle. 

“Oh,” is the first thing Scorpius says when they arrive back at the Potter cottage from King’s Cross. Ginny is busy sorting through dirty laundry from Albus and Lily’s trunks, sifting through their jumpers and shirts and ties, but looks over at Scorpius when she hears him speak. “Did you…? Mrs Potter, you truly didn't have to.”

Ginny walks over. Kisses his temple. Ruffles up his hair. He’s cold to the touch, and she makes a mental note to add more wood to the fire when she is finished with the laundry. She also makes a mental note to make him some tea, something to warm him up.

“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to,” Ginny says, the two of them stood in front of the fireplace looking at his stocking that hangs among the rest of the group on the mantelpiece. “If you’re staying with us, you’re family. And family all have stockings.”

Scorpius swallows. 

“You can take it home with you, if you’d like? You don’t have to, but if you-”

“No,” Scorpius shakes his head. “I think I’d like to keep it here. Just in case.”

Ginny nods. “Sure, honey.” She says. She makes Scorpius some tea, she adds more wood to the fire. Scorpius sits with her in the kitchen and sifts through dirty laundry even though he doesn’t have to, even though everyone else is in the garden throwing snowballs, even though there are probably a thousand other things a sixteen year old kid would rather be doing on the first day of their Christmas break. 

She sees him keep looking back at the stocking. Sees the shock in his eyes, the complete bewilderment that someone would welcome him with open arms. Ginny wants to hold him and tell him he deserves this. That this is how he should be treated every single place he goes. She doesn’t, though. She just asks if he wants more tea, and smiles when he asks for a hot chocolate, if that’s alright?

⚡

It’s late on Christmas Eve, her kids all sleeping and her arms full of gifts she is gradually slipping into their stockings, when Harry presses a kiss to her neck and says, with sincerity, “you’re a wonderful mother, you know that?”

Ginny shrugs. Her head rests on Harry’s shoulder, his breath is all over her skin. “I don’t think I am,” she says. “But thank you, H.”

“You are, Gin. The kids and I are lucky to have you.”

The kids. All three of them wrapped up in their Christmas pyjamas and tucked under their blankets. Baby Lily, because, really, two years old is still a baby age, in Ginny’s opinion. Al, James. Older but still _her_ babies. They will always be her babies. She gets overwhelmed, sometimes, thinking about how much love she has for them. 

She had doubted all the advice she’d been told that you love all your kids an equal amount. Because she loved James with everything she had and more. She knew within moments of holding him that nothing would ever stop her loving this boy, would stop her from devoting her life to making sure he is okay. Ginny loved him with such devotion she didn’t even understand where it came from most of the time. 

Then when she was pregnant with Albus she didn’t understand how she could love something as much as she did James. Again, instead of enjoying this pregnancy, she found herself riddled with anxiety and preconceived devastation at her inevitable failure as a mother to two. Because it would happen. She would have two of them, but she wouldn’t love the new one as much as does the first. 

But, inexplicably, it was fine. It’s as if her heart doubled in size, somehow. She found love she didn’t even know she had the capacity to harbour. Found commitment and compassion that seemed beyond her wildest dreams. And it happened again with Lily. She doesn’t know how, she doesn’t understand how being a mother works, she just knows that things happen and feelings occur and she goes along with it as if she knows what she is doing. 

It can feel a bit like drowning, Ginny thinks, being a parent. Because every single thing your kids do is amazing, and everything they do is somehow thanks to your guidance and presence. Every time they blink she feels love. Every laugh. Every cough. When Albus draws her little notes on the back of the newspaper or James brings her a buttercup from the back garden. Every single thing fills the pool of love she has, to the point where it overflows, and suddenly she is drowning in adoration for her kids. Her brilliant kids. Her and Harry and her kids. 

Some life they’ve made together, she thinks. Some wonderful life. 

“I’m trying my best,” Ginny says as she tucks the last gift into Lily’s stocking. A charmed unicorn toy that flies around when squeezed. She thinks her littlest kid will enjoy it, she hopes she will, anyway. “I’m trying so, so hard, H.”

“Hey, hey,” Harry says. He holds her, kisses her temple, the two of them warming in front of the fire. “I know. And you’re doing great. You don’t even have to try, you’re just amazing as you are.”

Ginny shakes her head. “I do have to try,” she says. “Because I can’t… because I can’t cook lots of things and sometimes I can’t find their favourite toys when they’re having a meltdown and I have to try so hard because I want them to be as happy as possible and-”

“They are, Gin. They’re so happy. Happy and safe and they’re all brilliant, aren’t they?” Harry says. Ginny doesn’t understand how Harry has so much wisdom, how he continues to extend such patience to Ginny after all these years. There are so many things she doesn't understand. “And that’s because of you. Because of _us_. We’re doing a great job.”

“I love them so much.”

Harry kisses her. Properly, this time. “They love you, too,” he says. They stare at the stockings, at the initials and the little presents peeking out of the top and the gifts under the tree and at this home they have carved out of a house. _Their_ home. With their kids. “Shall we go to bed?”

Ginny nods. “Sure,” she says. “Let’s go to bed.”

⚡

“Albus, be careful,” Ginny scolds. She looks at her kid who was seconds away from backing into the Christmas tree and tipping it over. He really is like a cat, she thinks. A clumsy, adorable cat. “You break any of those baubles and you’re paying for replacements.”

Albus holds his hands up in front of him. “Sorry, mum.”

He’s eighteen, now. He isn’t really a kid anymore, she doesn’t think. He’s in his final year at Hogwarts, shaping into some enigmatic and fascinating person she feels honoured to know. Albus doesn’t ask her for advice anymore, doesn’t ask if he can go out in the evenings and doesn’t tell her to save a plate of dinner. He has a whole life she knows nothing about, because that’s what happens when kids grow up and become teenagers and suddenly begin to mould this second, private section of their life that has nothing to do with their parents until something goes wrong and they need help to sort it out. 

Ginny gets to see glimmers of this life. Sees the way his eyes light up when he opens a letter and sees the tenderness with which he writes his response and ties it to the leg of their family owl. She sees little marks on his neck and observes a flush in his cheeks when he comes home but she never brings it up, because it isn’t hers to know. She knows Albus thinks he is really sneaky, and that she doesn’t notice this little trail of evidence he leaves behind. But she’s his mother. It is her job to notice these things. But it’s also her job to give him the patience and privacy he wants, so she isn’t going to intrude. 

“It’s alright, bub,” Ginny says. She pulls him over and kisses his cheek, because he may not be a kid anymore but he will always be _her_ kid, and she will kiss her kids until the day she dies. “You did good with the mantelpiece. Looks very fancy.”

Albus beams at her. “Thanks. I even left spaces for your stockings,” he says, nodding to the four distinct gaps he left between the Holly and tinsel and candles he has spent the last twenty minutes meticulously arranging on the surface. “Wouldn’t be Christmas without those on there.”

“Why the four?” Ginny asks. She rubs his back, breathes in the scent of his shampoo. She finds it hard to believe that this full sized human is hers, is the same person she used to hold to her chest and show the lights to and hush until he would settle and go to sleep. It feels as if no time has passed; at least not enough time for that small baby of hers to become this lanky, lovely full sized human being, a few centimetres taller than her. It gives her shivers if she thinks too hard about it. 

“Scorpius?” Albus asks. “He won’t be here Christmas Eve, but I thought you said he could come for lunch?”

Ginny smiles. “I did, yeah. I knew he was coming over, I just didn’t realise he’d want his stocking up.”

Albus frowns. “If you don’t have anything to put in it we don’t have to-”

“Don’t be silly, Al. Of course I have things to put in it,” Ginny says. Albus peels away from her side, kneels down and lights the fire with a tap of his wand. “He’s basically family at this point. He’s like the third son I never had.”

Albus smiles this time. He looks up at his mum and all Ginny wants to do is keep him there forever. Keep him smiling at her and loving her and being within an arms reach at all times. She remembers being younger and wishing for the future so she could see what her kids become, but now the future is here, just like that, and suddenly she wants to reverse it all. To slow it down. To pause. Ginny doesn't really know what she wants, but she knows all of it is impossible, anyway. 

“I really love Christmas,” Albus says out of nowhere. He has his legs pulled to his chest, chin resting atop of his knees. “I don’t think I’ve ever admitted it before. But I do.”

Ginny brushes her fingers through his hair. “Yeah?”

Albus nods. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s, like, loud. But not a painful loud. It’s manageable. It’s loud with love, I guess.”

“Well, I’m glad you love Christmas, Al. That makes me very happy.” Ginny crouches down to kiss his cheek. He hugs her when she’s down there, though, arms around her waist, head into her chest. 

“I love you, mum.” Albus says. 

Ginny swallows back her emotions. It never grows old. Her kids saying they love her. It’s something that means just as much hearing it now as it did the first time. She knows it’s probably meaningless, just a slip of the tongue or something that they say without thinking too much about it. But it doesn’t matter. Not to her, anyway. 

Because her kids love her. _Her_. She’s done something right, it seems. Something that makes her kids look at her and feel love, feel joy. Ginny may not be perfect, she may look at her kids and think she could’ve done so much better sometimes, but that’s irrelevant. In moments like this with Albus hugging her so tightly and telling her he loves her, everything else is irrelevant. 

“Merlin. I love you so much, Albus.” Ginny says into his hair. She hopes he believes her. She hopes he feels it. She has many hopes and wishes for her kids - she wishes them success and joy and calm - but above all that, towering above with a heavy importance, she hopes they feel loved. Her love. Harry’s love. 

Pure, unwavering love. 

⚡

She’s young. She’s engaged. She is holding hands with the love of her life as they walk along Diagon Alley in the middle of December, shopping bags weighing them down and Butterbeer warming them from the inside out. People watch them as they walk along the street, because they always do, but Harry ignores them, and so does Ginny. 

It’s ridiculously cold; Ginny has her beanie pulled right over her hair, has her brother’s old Gryffindor scarf wrapped around her neck and an oversized coat buttoned as tight as possible, but it still isn’t really enough. There is snow on the ground, ice all over the cobbles. Diagon Alley is a death trap right now, it seems. Harry keeps her upright though, keeps their hands completely twined and guides her with an invisible string to wherever it is they need to be. 

He stops them outside a pop up Christmas shop; it used to be a sweet shop, or maybe a robes shop (Ginny can’t quite remember), but a lot of those places never managed to get their feet back on the ground after the war, and the buildings lie derelict for some portions of the year. Like this one. Most of the time it stands vacant, blacked out windows and shattered glass, but for the month of December, somehow, someone takes over and sells seasonally appropriate gifts and goods. It makes no sense to Ginny, but there are many things she doesn’t understand, so she just stands with her head against Harry’s shoulder as they examine the window display, as snow covers their coats. 

“Look at those, Gin,” Harry says suddenly, gesturing to a little stack of baby shoes at the back of the display. Shoes decorated with snowmen, reindeer, little Christmas puddings topped with bobbles and sequins. “Cute, right?”

Ginny smiles. Kisses Harry’s cheek. “Yeah,” she agrees. “Almost hard to imagine something so tiny that it’d fit into those shoes.”

“I can’t wait to buy some, one day.” Harry muses. 

Ginny catches his eye in the reflection of the window. They gaze at each other for a moment; people walk by behind them, someone is singing carols down the bottom end of the Alley. “You think about that?” She asks. 

Harry shrugs. “Course I do,” he says, as if it’s common sense. He looks at her with this funny sort of expression, twisted eyebrows and scrunched up nose. He looks disgracefully cute; Ginny really wants to kiss every single inch of him right now, but she somehow manages to resist. “I thought it was normal to think about the rest of your life with the person you’re going to marry.”

“Oh, it is. I just… it scares me,” Ginny laughs. She looks at the shoes again. “Having one. The idea of having one. It’s a lot of responsibility.”

“I think you’d manage,” Harry says. “I think _we’d_ manage.”

Ginny raises her eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Harry kisses her. She really does love him quite a bit, if she’s honest. More than she’s loved anyone ever in her life. “Yeah.”

And maybe it shouldn’t be that scary. Because if it’s the two of them - Harry and Ginny, Ginny and Harry - then it will be completely fine. It always is. The two of them against the world, as it always has been. They’ve coped so far. Surely parenthood isn’t one step too far. Not for them, anyway. Nothing will be too much for the two of them to handle. That’s one thing Ginny is sure of. There isn’t much she knows, but this is one of them: she knows that the two of them can do anything they want, anything they set their mind in on, as long as they do it together. 

⚡

Ginny comes back to Diagon Alley to buy those shoes after she has James. He’s asleep against her chest, and she buys the shoes while nurturing the oddest feeling in her chest. A sense of completion, perhaps. She never thought she’d have a kid, never thought she’d actually get to buy the shoes. They feel heavy in her bag as she takes them home. Heavy as she wraps them in gold paper and ties ribbon around the circumference and ties it into a little bow. Heavy as she tucks them into his stocking. Almost as heavy as her heart as she stares at her stocking she made for her kid, full of things she bought for him. It’s the most peculiar feeling, the most bizarre burst of love she’s had in her life. 

The feeling repeats when she buys the shoes for Albus, and then again for Lily. Exactly the same. It never sinks in. The fact she has something so small that the shoes fit them, it never sinks in, the fact her stockings are full every year, it never sinks in, the fact she slowly sees the stitches loosen with wear, it never sinks in. 

Ginny feels so lucky. So immeasurably lucky, and she wouldn’t change any of it for the world. She never takes any of it for granted. She never takes _them_ for granted. Life is too short to take them for granted, to not appreciate every second she gets with them. Every moment. Every breath. She remembers all of it, loves all of it, appreciates all of it. 

Because she’s a mother. Somehow, she’s a mother. And that’s her job. To appreciate it all, every last second.

⚡

Ginny is putting gifts into the stocking when James comes downstairs, walks into the living room, and hugs his mother so tightly, from behind, that she almost struggles to breathe. 

“Excuse me, mister,” Ginny says, turning on her heels so she can hug her son back. “I was under the impression we have a strict ten o’clock curfew on Christmas Eve so Santa can sort out gifts under the tree.”

She is playfully scolding him, of course, gently prodding his hips until he pulls back slightly, and she sees the tears on his cheeks, and suddenly all joy leaves her heart and the room and it is all replaced by panic. Panic and concern. 

“Woah, hey. Jamie, what’s wrong?” Ginny asks. She brushes her thumbs underneath his eyes, wipes away his tears, tries to get him to look at her. 

She watches him swallow thickly. Watches his breath shakily leave his body. Then he looks at her, and the expression is so painful Ginny feels her entire heart shatter right there and then. This is the worst part of being a parent, watching your kid cry. Always has been, always will be. 

“Please don’t be mad at me.” James manages to say. 

Ginny frowns. “Never, baby.”

“I, um,” he clears his throat. The dwindling candles on the mantelpiece make his tears a lot more obvious, bouncing off the surface of them on his cheeks, setting them apart from the shadows on the rest of his face. “I was kind of seeing someone. I hadn’t told you or dad because… I don’t know. I just didn’t feel ready yet. Please don’t be mad. But she, um. She just broke up with me. And it feels really shitty. And I just… I needed a hug from you.”

Ginny doesn’t say the first thing that comes to her mind. _I knew it_. Because of course she did. Perhaps Albus keeps her on her toes sometimes, and Lily is better than the rest at keeping things secret for a few weeks, but James is as mysterious as a piece of plastic. Ginny knows him the best out of all her kids, she thinks. Mainly because she’s had longer with him, but also because he’s just so generous and so expressive that it’s impossible for him to hide how he’s feeling. 

So of course Ginny knew something was up. Of course she saw the stack of letters building up on his windowsill when she went in to change his bedsheets. Of course she noticed the smell of perfume on some of his jumpers that were in the wash basket. And as much as she wished James would tell her, as much as she wanted to know, none of that matters now. All that matters is him, and making him feel better, and helping him through something that is clearly troubling him. 

Because that’s one lesson she’s learnt about being a parent. You don’t get to choose what you know. You don’t get to choose when to be involved in something, when to give advice you know they need. There comes a point where they have to do things for themselves. You don’t have a say in the matter anymore, but you will always be the one they come to when things get too harsh. 

And perhaps it’s a horrible thought, perhaps it’s an inherently selfish streak in her, but Ginny lives for these moments. For the moments when her kid comes to her, to their mother, because she is the only one who can make it better. Scraped knees, fights with best friends, and, now, break ups with girlfriends. She may not be involved, but she’s the only one who can make it better. And these are the moments she loves, even if seeing James in pieces tears her apart. 

“I’m not mad, Jamie. Never will I be mad at you,” Ginny says. She hugs him again, because that is what he asked for, and James hugs her back, so she knows she is doing something right. “It sucks, right? Breakups. They’re awful. Because you give so much of yourself to this other person and offer up your entire heart to them and then when they’re not around anymore you suddenly have to figure out how to be an individual person again. You have to put all those pieces back together again, and it’s very hard to do that. Because you’re also now a different person, too. The relationship changes you in little ways. So you have to try and make yourself whole again, while also trying to figure out what a whole version of you looks like with these changes the relationship brought upon you. It is, as you said, shitty.”

James nods against her chest. His tears are damp on Ginny’s dressing gown. Ginny bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself together. She’ll cry later, probably, but she won’t do it in front of him. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It’s just… I don’t know what I did.”

“Nothing, probably,” Ginny says. “Relationships are weird, honey. Sometimes people just… change their mind. And that’s all it is. It’s nothing to do with you, nothing to do with them. Life is just too short to keep pretending, you know? You are wonderful, Jamie. And it’s shitty now, and I know you’re still going to go upstairs and wonder what you did wrong even though I’ve told you it’s not your fault, but it’s not the end of the world. It feels like it, but it won’t be.”

James sniffs. “I really liked her.”

“Well, I’d sure hope so.”

That makes him laugh. Only a little. But a laugh is a laugh, and Ginny will take all the tiny victories she can at the moment. 

“Feeling a bit better?”

James nods. “A little bit.”

Ginny smiles. “Good,” she says, kissing his forehead. “I love you.”

“Sorry, mum. For, you know, coming down and crying on you and being sort of pathetic.”

“You are not pathetic, James. Never think that of yourself, okay?” Ginny says. She brushes his cheeks, he places his hands on top of hers. “It’s past your bedtime, bub. Santa won’t come if you stay down here.”

James laughs, again. Ginny wants to bottle up the sound and carry it around with her for the rest of her life. “Sure, sure. Love you, mum. See you in the morning.”

Ginny kisses his cheek. Waves as he walks back upstairs. She waits until she hears his bedroom door close, until she hears his mattress creak as he lowers himself beneath the covers and tries to fall asleep. She waits until all of that happens before letting herself cry. 

Cry because her kid is heartbroken. Because someone somewhere in the world has had the audacity to make her kid feel as if he isn’t worth the time of day, as if he’s not worthy of love and affection. And it makes her _so_ angry. As much as she tries to understand that teenage relationships are complex, and that two seventeen year olds have no idea what they’re doing, it still gets to her. Because her James is absolutely perfect, he is deserving of only the finest love and is so entirely wonderful that the only expression on his face should be one of pure splendour and joy. 

But he doesn’t feel that way right now. He feels shitty on Christmas Eve, and that person had the audacity to break up with him while Ginny was stuffing her kid’s stocking full of tiny little gifts that were meant to make him happy, but will now probably be second best to the feeling of devastation Ginny knows will linger with him for the next coming weeks. 

It’s so hard, she thinks. There is just so much pain and difficulty in the world and so much that she can’t control even with how hard she tries. Parenting is eighty percent pain and twenty percent joy. Sure, the twenty percent is sparkling gold and is worth all the hardships in the world, but it is fleeting and it is sparse. 

There are too many people in the world who don’t see her kids as she does. Who don’t see them as incredible people who should be handled with care and love and consideration. There are people who will break their hearts ten times over, who will make them feel inadequate. And she won’t be able to stop them, she isn’t supposed to stop them. Because kids are meant to experience all those things, are meant to build up their shells so they can conquer it all on their own one day. 

But it isn’t easy. It never is. Seeing them cry, knowing they’re in pain. It isn’t easy. Ginny would rather shoulder all of their pain and sadness if it meant they could live a life of sheer pleasure. She knows that isn’t possible, though. She knows that now. 

Ginny picks up the rest of the presents, finishes putting them into the stockings, then heads upstairs to fall asleep. For seven hours of temporary solace from the vast and terrifying world that she fights endlessly, every single day, every single time she opens her eyes. 

⚡

She’s in charge of Christmas this year. 

Everyone is in her living room - literally, everyone - and wrapping paper is being torn and thrown around so ferociously that every single surface is covered in tiny clippings. Her parents sit on chairs opening homemade fudge and brand new books about Muggle devices. Her brothers exchange Christmas cards and her sisters-in-law all beam at the brand new robes they pull out of gift bags. The kids - old and young, blood related and not - are all over the floor, diving beneath the tree and handing out gifts depending on what name is on the tag. 

It’s loud, it’s busy. There is a blond haired boy among a sea of ginger and brown but not a single one of them feels out of place. Ginny fills up glasses with water and brews fresh mugs of tea. She plays the part of host as well as possible, but she always has one eye on her kids. As they take their stockings off the fireplace, as they pull out the little knickknacks and beam at the sweets Ginny curated specifically for them. 

Ginny watches Lily open a charmed snow globe with a unicorn inside, one where when she shakes it the unicorn prances around its snowy, glass prison. Her eyes are lit up with joy, and she shakes it as she used to shake her rattle as a baby. She watches James unwrap a lovebird quill rest, a little statue where the beak of the bird is open, a tiny space to place a quill when it isn’t used. A lovebird is his Patronus, something they learned a few months ago, and when Ginny came across the little thing in a wizarding antiques shop she couldn’t not buy it. James holds it to his chest, finds his mother’s eyes and mouths three words so sweet at her he almost deconstructs her piece by piece right there and then. 

Lastly, she watches as Albus unwraps a tiny watch, a replica of the clock in the Burrow. Whenever they are at the Burrow, even back to when Albus was a baby, he is always fascinated by the clock. He stares at it for so long, hours on end, always musing about how it works and where it came from. Ginny managed to find someone who made replicas like the clock in her parents’ house, and maybe it’s a little expensive to be a stocking present, and maybe she splurged a little too much, but the look on Albus’ face makes her forget all that. His face as he takes in the names on the hands - mum, dad, James, Lily, grandma, grandpa, Scorpius - and sees them all pointing to _home_. His face as he looks up at his mother, his eyes a little teary. As he gently bites his tongue trying to strap it onto his wrist, as he gently nudges Scorpius’ side to get him to help. 

As she watches them, her three kids, Ginny thinks she’s done it. Finally. She thinks she’s been a good mother. She sees them at peace, she sees them being appreciative and smiling and sharing and doing all the things you teach your kids to do. 

But, most importantly, she sees them living. For her whole life Ginny thinks she’s been looking at her kids through cloudy glasses, always assuming the worst, always having to plan one step ahead just in case of a disaster. But right here, right now, she’s seeing them clearly. She’s living in the present, watching her family enjoy Christmas in the home she has built with Harry, opening presents she has wrapped and eating food she has made. 

Ginny sees it all so vividly. She feels it all so strongly. 

So maybe it took twenty years too long, maybe she’s making it up and she isn’t actually experiencing this and it’s just the festive spirit intoxicating her thoughts. Maybe it doesn’t matter all too much, though, not as much as she’s making it out to be. Because right now, for the first time since she found out she was becoming a parent and she would have to guide a tiny human through this world, Ginny feels like a good mother. 

Christmas Day with her family. Christmas Day with her husband. Christmas Day with her _kids_. 

It’s what she never thought she would have, something she never knew she desired, but something she never wants to lose. If this is what being a good mother feels like, then Ginny thinks, perhaps, she would quite like get used to it.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> tumblr: dustyspines


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